


Poison in My Veins, a Patter in My Chest

by Larkawolfgirl



Series: Dare to Write Challenge [8]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Canonical Character Death, Delusions, Grief/Mourning, Melodrama, Mental Instability, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 15:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larkawolfgirl/pseuds/Larkawolfgirl
Summary: Clarke had an aching emptiness where not one, but three hearts rested. Two dead, and one charred yet still pumping residual poison into her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This got pretty overdramatic but I couldn't seem to reign it in. I imagine this taking place about a week or so after Lexa's death, so it's still really fresh.
> 
> Written for the Dare to Write challenge. Prompt: Three dead hearts

Clarke used to imagine herself as a blushing bride like in all the bedtime stories. Clothed in shimmering white, face broken by a wide grin, mind hazy with dreams of forever with that one special person. She remembered wooing over her favorite quotes. _Marriage is a blessed union, when two hearts become one. It is better to have loved and lost it than to have never loved at all. Love gives us purpose when nothing else makes sense. Love lifts us up when the world is bent on crushing us._ And crushing her it was.

Ever since landing in the dropship, life had been nothing but harsh and cruel. But love, love was the worst of it all. It was a poison that seeped slow and warm into your veins before stinging with vicious bite. It lingered in your chest, eating away at you until there was a gaping hole with acidic edges.

Lies, all of it. She wished to have never known what love felt like, wished she could still breathe and sleep without waking in a cold sweat. Love made the least sense of anything to her, because now Clarke had an aching emptiness where not one, but three hearts rested. Two dead, and one charred yet still pumping residual poison into her.

She clutched the Flame tighter in her fist, only vaguely cautious of crushing it. If Lexa was truly in there, shouldn’t she feel it? Shouldn’t she feel closer, less dead inside, by this contact? But instead, all she felt was a hard jab of synthetic fiber against her palm. Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath in, willing the images of their dead faces away as fresh tears threatened. For what must have been the hundredth time at least this week, she thanked nothing in particular that she was alone. That she could wallow in her own misery without interference or judgment.

Wanheda, the Commander of death. _The bringer of death._ The irony that in trying her damndest to save everyone she only managed to fail in the worst way bubbled in her throat in an ugly screech. She had saved no one, and in so doing brought about the deaths of _both_ of her loves, those she had longed to save most of all. Countless innocents’ blood painted her hands, but in theirs she was _guilty_. While Cage forced her hand, it was her insistence which killed Lexa and her own decision to steal Finn’s.

Her hand began to vibrate, and when she glanced down, it was dyed crimson. With a jolt, she shrunk backwards, shaking her hand in a crazed attempt to dislodge the liquid. Instead, heat pulsed from it as the liquid oozed down her arm.

Finn’s heart-wrenching voice sounded in her ears. “I never meant it. I…I only wanted to save you.” There was an unsettling pause. “The blood on our hands…it changes us.”

As if spurred by his words, the blood on her arm defied gravity, surging upward before crashing down to coat her entire arm up to her shoulder. Tears fell from her eyes now, and she shook her head, telling herself she didn’t mean any of it, that she tried her best.

Next, she heard Lexa’s voice, distant and reproachful. “You could have stopped all this, _Waneda_.” The way she said the name was as cold as ice. “Jus drein, jus daun. It is the way of the world, an endless cycle.”

A sob ripped from Clarke’s throat. The Flame clattered to the stone floor as she clutched at her chest instead, feeling like it was about to burst open in the wake of her grief.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I loved you. I loved you so much.” Her voice broke, barely understandable, but she knew no one was listening anyway. There were no ghosts watching over you, no god seeking your redemption. There was nothing besides pain and the inevitable nothingness of death. The reincarnation of the Flame was nothing but a nice superstitious bedtime story. A flickering light in a hopeless life.

Clarke’s body slumped, all fight draining from her. It suddenly felt overwhelmingly stupid to have tried so hard. What was the point of living if life was nothing by endless pain? The small moments of happiness only made the next unavoidable wound that much more painful. Her eyes fell to the tiny Flame--synthetic chip she corrected herself—and there lying near it on the stone was a silver knife. Clarke’s mind was too delirious to contemplate how it had gotten there, but one thought did cut through her existential crisis: the fact that she could end it all. End her suffering, end her trail of death. The world would be better off without her.

She plucked the knife up, bringing it immediately to her throat. The blade rested there, a welcome predator. For a split second, she saw Lexa in a flowing silver gown with welcoming arms. An angel bringing her to the solace of heaven. It was a nice delusion and settled the throbbing in her chest.

But just as she readied to slice her flesh, there was the tiniest of sounds. A thump. Clarke lowered the blade, searching for the source of the noise. What she found was the Flame glowing with the dimmest of blue lights. Immediately, she dropped the knife, reaching for the Flame instead, and when she touched it this time there was warmth.

 _Lexa_ , her heart sang.

The weariness dripped from her bones, leaving her invigorated. Bringing the Flame up, she gave it a light kiss, feeling a flutter in her chest at the action.

Perhaps she had been wrong. There were three hearts inside her, but perhaps they never truly died.


End file.
